It was raining heavily while, lying in bed, I contemplated the image. The window was open and the humidity was constant and insolent and, as a silent dare, I cooled my feet. Faced with the inability to stop thinking, I have decided to stand up to the thoughts and, again, I saw myself in a soliloquy that even I did not understand.
I cannot put into words how I feel, I suppose it is because of this emptiness that occupies everything, that leaves me speechless before my notebook.
The image of the city is like my memory; there are dark, blurred, almost intangible places and, on the other hand, there are memories that, although distant, are still illuminated, memories as alive and as present as you, like me.
I contemplate that city from the distance that separates me from the world, from the top of my tower where I live this “abduction.” But, although they have separated me from the world, nothing and no one can take me away from what is intrinsically mine, my memories.
I have thought of it, as usual, glimpsing at it small and fragile, curled up in the clews of its skin, striving to feed an almost dead hope. And, in my confused visions, the memory becomes blurred, the lights go out and I can hardly remember the touch of those hands that so often rocked me in the sad afternoons of my adolescence. The smell of their skin, their innate perfume, the essence of lavender worn daily. Even after so much time, my palate can taste the flavours of their stews and delight my senses. And then there are moments that time cannot erase, there are memories that appear dark on the horizon, but there are others that will continue to shine despite the years passing.
